Friendship

by Margit Sandemo

  “I’m dying,” he screamed as he writhed in pain on the ground. “I’m going to die! Mum! Mum! Take me home!”

  “Quiet! Hold on to me and keep your mouth shut!” ordered Brand in a harsh whisper. “We must get away from here – back to the tent and Tarjei!”

  “Mum! Dad! Dear kind Dad,” snivelled Jesper as they hobbled away. “I don’t want to be here any more. It’s just so horrible. I don’t want people to be angry with each other and fight to death.”

  The naïve words of the rough peasant boy poured out of him in a rush, expressing in the very best and simplest of terms what important statesmen struggle to convey in their more complex speeches.

  ***

  A day or two later, Alexander Paladin returned to a state of consciousness, but he was still not fully aware of what was happening around him.

  Most things remained a blur but thankfully he felt no pain.

  Judging by the sounds and moaning close around him, he gathered that he was still in the hospital tent. He wondered how long he’d been lying there – it seemed like ages.

  He recognised the foul smells of warfare, the stench of old blood, because he’d been in tents like this before. But this one seemed to be exceptionally clean, at least the little he could see of it. There were no piles of amputated limbs, which in other hospital tents were simply thrown aside and left to rot. There was the smell of smoke, probably from a fire close by, where those limbs were disposed of.

  His eyelids felt heavy and his arms lay weakly at his side. He couldn’t feel his legs at all. Alexander had a vague memory of a face appearing over him from time to time. It was a friendly face, with features that he’d seen somewhere before; or to be more precise, features that reminded him of somebody.

  He was almost certain that a gentle voice had spoken to him, but he’d never been able to answer. Now he heard that voice again, but it was somewhere else in the tent, a long way off, and he couldn’t make out the words. Above all else, Alexander felt sleepy and he thought he was about to lose consciousness once more. Then someone shouted out loudly nearby.

  “Tarjei!” yelled the voice. “Tarjei, come over here! I’m dying, I’m sure of it!”

  The next moment, the gentle cultivated voice replied from somewhere close by in a language he only partly understood.

  “Take it easy, Jesper. You’re fine. Don’t worry. You’ll be alright.”

  “Thank you, Tarjei,” said the younger, simpler voice. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  Tarjei? When Alexander heard the name again, he was wide awake at once.

  Tarjei was such an unusual name. Could it possibly be Cecilie’s cousin, the young physician? Well, of course! It had been his voice that he’d heard earlier while they were working on him, with the same Norwegian lilt as Cecilie. And maybe it had been the traces of her family’s features and eyes that he’d imagined in the young doctor’s face. As this dawned on him, he called out for Tarjei to come over to him straightaway.

  “Ah! So you’re awake now, Colonel. That’s good.”

  Alexander took an immediate liking to this young man. He liked Tarjei’s gentle and warm personality and his friendly, pleasing smile.

  “You must be Cecilie’s cousin, Tarjei?” Alexander asked in a hoarse voice.

  The young field surgeon’s eyes widened in surprise. “Yes, I am. Do you know her?”

  “Certainly. She’s my wife,” said Alexander, smiling.

  “Is Cecilie married? I didn’t know. We met last Christmas and then ...”

  “ We married in February. My name’s Alexander Paladin.”

  “But ...” Tarjei broke off before betraying his thoughts, but he couldn’t hide his dismay.

  Alexander smiled bitterly. “I know that she has told you about me. You were the one, I believe, who explained the background about my – let’s say ‘peculiarity,’ shall we?”

  The young field surgeon nodded uncertainly. “Yes, but I don’t quite understand.”

  “It was a marriage of common sense. I was threatened with the gallows and she was pregnant. We saved each other.”

  “Cecilie was pregnant? How?”

  “Yes, but please, don’t tell a soul that it wasn’t mine! Neither Cecilie nor I want people to know.”

  “No, of course not.” Tarjei thought for a moment then said, “Aha!”

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing, just that I was wondering ... We had a friend at home who was utterly captivated by Cecilie when she visited. He was very much like you. Then when I told Cecilie about you, she was deeply upset.”

  “Was this friend a vicar?”

  Tarjei nodded.

  “Unfortunately, she lost the child not so long ago. I received the news by letter,” said Alexander.

  “Poor Cecilie,” Tarjei murmured.

  “Indeed. I’m sorry about it too. For her sake, of course, but also for my own. I’d been prepared to adopt the child as mine.”

  Tarjei didn’t say anything, but he was obviously thinking about what he’d just heard.

  Alexander was surprised at how quickly a bond was established between them, and he wondered whether this was because Tarjei was Cecilie’s cousin. Or was there another reason? He pushed such thoughts aside and looked up at Tarjei.

  “Well?” he smiled hesitantly. “Will I recover?”

  “I’ve just been asking myself that same question, and ...”

  He was interrupted in what he was about to say when Brand arrived. He’d come to see Jesper, who was lying not far from Alexander. Tarjei waved Brand over.

  “Come and meet Cecilie’s husband,” he called. Turning to Alexander, he said: “This is my little brother, Brand. We were three brothers, but Trond, the third one, fell a few days ago, quite near here. And that flaxen-haired young man lying there is Jesper, the son of our neighbours back home.”

  “Are you badly wounded, Colonel?” asked Brand, noting the insignia of rank on the cloak lying next to the bunk.

  “Please call me Alexander! I’m part of your family now, am I not?”

  Brand smiled slowly. “Of course you are, and you’re most welcome!”

  “Thank you. I was just asking your brother what was wrong with me.”

  Tarjei’s businesslike manner returned at once. “You’re obviously able to speak and move your head, eyes and arms, which is good. Do you feel any pain?”

  “No, not at all.”

  ‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ thought Tarjei, but he didn’t say so aloud. Looking speculatively at Alexander, he asked: “Can you move your feet at all?”

  Alexander laughed. “Move them? I can’t even feel them!”

  Tarjei was deeply concerned when he heard this and went to the end of the bunk and prodded Alexander’s toes with the point of a knife. But there was no reaction.

  Tarjei sighed. “You have a musket bullet in your back, Alexander. I tried to move it but it’s stuck in a difficult place.”

  As the seriousness of the situation began to dawn fully on him, Alexander asked in a hushed voice: “Do you mean to say that I’m paralysed?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so for the time being. From the small of your back to your feet. But these things can right themselves. We must wait a few days and see what happens.”

  Nobody said anything, but it was obvious that they were all disappointed and saddened by the news. There was silence around the bunk for a while before Alexander finally said: “And what’s wrong with our flaxen-haired comrade over there?”

  Brand grinned and answered for Jesper. “He’s suffered a few broken bones in his foot, and never in the history of warfare has a man been more terribly wounded than Jesper! But Tarjei believes that the wounds will heal themselves if only he’s allowed to rest. Though it must be said that Jesper suffers most of all from homesickness.”

  “Yes, it�
�s stupid that Norwegians should fight in this war,” said Alexander thoughtfully. “Did you volunteer?”

  “No, we were forced to join the war.”

  “You both seem so young. I’ll speak to someone very soon and see that you’re sent back with the unit that’s seeing to the wounded.”

  When Jesper heard this from his nearby bunk, his face lit up and Brand also looked relieved.

  “That would be wonderful,” said Brand. “Thank you.”

  “And when you reach Denmark, you must stay at my house, with Cecilie,” Alexander continued. “She’ll be very pleased, I know. But you, my young man,” he added, pointing at Tarjei, “you’ll have to stay here because we can’t do without you.”

  ***

  That night Alexander Paladin lay awake, reflecting on his life – both the past and what might be. It looked fearfully bleak on both fronts. The only highlights had been his profession, at which he’d excelled up until now; the fact that he’d been born with reasonable wealth, and meeting Cecilie. But what would she say now if his condition didn’t improve and he remained paralysed? Would she be relieved? No, he couldn’t believe that of her. But there was one thing that he didn’t think about at all and that was his own sense of honour. But then it would never have crossed his mind to do so.

  As the evening drew to a close, he watched Tarjei walking with a lamp in his hand, checking on the wounded one last time before retiring to his bed. There was something very admirable about him and he was clearly gifted at treating the sick and wounded.

  As he watched him go from bed to bed, Alexander was thinking to himself: ‘This is a man I mustn’t become too friendly with, because he’s far too much like Cecilie.’

  Far too much like Cecilie?

  Why had he expressed the thought like that and what exactly had he meant by it? Did it have something to do with this hazy state of mind brought on by the severe wound? He didn’t know, and in the end he felt too weary to consider it further. Before long he fell into another exhausted sleep, wondering if he should have paid more attention to his curious choice of words.

  Chapter 9

  It was October before the sick and wounded soldiers finally set off for Denmark. Among them were Brand of the Ice People and his friend, Jesper. Alexander Paladin remained at the camp because Tarjei dared not move him. Tarjei had tried several times to retrieve the bullet from Alexander’s back, but it was too complicated and he was forced to give up. Now he’d promised Alexander that he could return home on the next transport because it was impossible to say how the fortunes of war might turn out.

  For the time being, things were relatively quiet at the front. King Christian’s forces were still trying to drive Tilly from Lower Saxony, but a new threat loomed on the horizon: Wallenstein with his army of 20,000 mercenaries had already taken Magdeburg and Halberstadt and they were advancing swiftly towards them.

  The problem was made worse by the fact that the allied Protestant princes were unable to agree on anything. The union was coming apart at the seams; promises of soldiers, weaponry and money were being broken and King Christian was apparently isolated. Despite this, he remained optimistic and determined to win. He hoped to win a great deal of personal honour as well, although he didn’t want that to be widely known.

  Among the wounded soldiers, Jesper was one of the most anxious to return to his mum and dad and the safe farm. He would gladly have hopped all the way on one leg if it had been quicker. He thought the conveyance of patients was moving at a snail’s pace. Brand, however, wasn’t quite so eager; the burden of telling his parents about Trond’s death lay heavily on his shoulders. He and Tarjei had agreed to let Trond remain the fallen hero that the army had made him, but they feared that Jesper might be a problem. Could he stay silent about the macabre events he’d witnessed? Of course, the flaxen-haired young boy had promised not to breathe a word to anyone, but Brand wasn’t sure that this kind of simple soul would be able to cope if he found himself in an awkward situation. Maybe an innocent comment from him might arouse their parents’ suspicion.

  The column of wounded men had reached the halfway stage on their journey to Denmark when dysentery broke out, which made the conditions of the war-weary men much worse. This time there was no Tarjei to assist them and Brand, who wasn’t himself wounded, helped as best he could to keep the stretchers clean. One of the unfortunate consequences was that Brand also caught dysentery. Jesper was fortunate because with the aid of a crutch, he was able to take care of himself. Sadly, they were forced to leave many soldiers behind, laying them to rest in hastily dug graves at the roadside. One after the other, the men fell into a slumber from which they never awoke and eventually there were so few left that they couldn’t be considered a military unit any more. In the end, scarcely twenty survivors were left, all struggling to keep each other going.

  Brand was so sick that they thought he wouldn’t survive, and a reluctant decision was taken to leave him behind. Jesper remained loyally by his side and together they watched the small contingent disappear into the distance across the heathlands of Holstein.

  “According to all the rules of chivalry, I really should tell you to go on home and not think about me,” Brand told Jesper with a weak smile. “Your mum and dad, Klaus and Rosa, are both eager to have you back. But I want so much to see Linden Avenue once more. Otherwise there won’t be anybody to take over the farm.”

  “I won’t leave without you,” said Jesper emphatically.

  “Thank you, old friend, from the bottom of my heart,” said Brand warmly. “But how are we to travel now? You with your foot and me with an undisciplined stomach that has a will of its own?”

  Jesper had only suffered a mild case of “the flux,” as it was called. It would have taken a lot more to get the better of such a tough farm boy who’d been used to every sort of bug in Rosa’s little cottage. If it hadn’t been for his foot, he’d almost certainly have been considered fit and well again.

  “Well, let’s try our best!” said Brand although he was completely exhausted. “There’s something I learned from Tarjei, which might help us. When he and Tengel helped during the plague epidemic at home many years ago, they spoke about boiling everything.”

  “Why?” asked Jesper, puzzled.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe it’s because you destroy things when you boil them? Anyway, let’s be foolish enough to do what they said. We certainly won’t survive as we are. I can’t move from here myself so can you start a fire and find something to boil our clothes in?”

  So much talking had worn out Brand. His heart was pounding and his ears were ringing. Jesper could see that he would have to act alone, and he looked around wildly. Boil their clothes? Nobody eats clothes! And what was he supposed to boil them in?

  “Just try to imagine,” whispered Brand, “that after we’ve done it, we’ve got rid of all the evil that’s on us. Tarjei told me that. You must also wash yourself and me in the boiling water. And I must have boiled water to drink. Clean water, not the water you boil the clothes in. Do you understand?”

  “Not really,” replied Jesper, unable to grasp fully how this was to be done. “I’m confused.”

  Jesper’s alarm and confusion grew more acute a few minutes later when Brand lost consciousness. As night closed in, he was beginning to feel lonely and isolated on the exposed heath, and he tried desperately to shake his friend back to life. But Brand didn’t stir, and Jesper gave up in the end. With a sob of despair, he sat down and began wracking his brain about how he might help them survive. What was it exactly that Brand had told him to do? He wasn’t given to praying, but in his mind he asked silently for help in this desperate situation.

  ***

  It was well into the night before Brand regained consciousness – and even then he was only aware of his surroundings for a short while. The sight that greeted his eyes when he opened them was astounding. A grotesque figure, naked as the
day he was born, with a dirty crutch under one arm, was dancing around a large fire which burned close to him. Brand was glad to feel the warm glow of the fire on his body for he was also naked and chilled to the bone. He saw their glamorous but worn out uniforms flapping among the trees and bushes where they’d been hung out to dry, and all the garments looked much smaller in size.

  “Brand, I’m so glad you’re awake again!” said Jesper fervently. “I thought you were dead. But look! I’ve done everything just like you said I should.”

  “How have ... you managed it?” Brand tried to speak but his lips were parched and his throat was dry.

  “Here, drink this. And I’ve washed you all over, too!”

  Jesper produced his water jar and held it to Brand’s lips. The water was far too hot but Brand drank it anyway, knowing his body desperately needed it. Jesper, anxious for approval, started to recount all that he’d done as fast as he could in case Brand lost consciousness again.

  “I walked back along the way because I remembered passing a few farm cottages. I found a nice girl there who helped me.” His eyes were shining as he told his story and his words poured out of him faster than ever. “She was so kind and gave me all that I asked of her. I promised I’d return later with the pot and the fire irons. You don’t mind if I go back again, do you?”

  “No, Jesper, of course not. You must take them back and thank her properly for helping us.”

  “Well, she said something about being paid but ‘not with money.’ What do you think she meant? What have I to offer in payment?”

  But Brand was no longer listening. He’d fallen into a deep sleep and Jesper was left in a quandary once more, sitting next to his friend. When he returned to the farm the following day, he quickly learned how he was expected to show his gratitude to the farm girl. Afterwards it was a beaming Jesper who returned, hobbling and somehow swaggering at the same time to where Brand lay. His shrunken uniform was covered in handfuls of hay, which was also stuck in his hair, but he gloried in the knowledge that he was now a man.